


the dim plodding awareness of your own demise

by Chitra_Rive



Series: TMA Is The Mechanisms' Podcast [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Suicide, like discussion of suicide is the whole fic, please mind that tag, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chitra_Rive/pseuds/Chitra_Rive
Summary: Jonny d'Ville did talk to Tim Stoker, once.
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville & Tim Stoker
Series: TMA Is The Mechanisms' Podcast [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897426
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62
Collections: Mechanisms and Magnus Crossovers that maintain the integrity of mechanisms lore





	the dim plodding awareness of your own demise

**Author's Note:**

> soooo remember when in an earlier installment of this jonny said he'd talked to tim stoker? (it's fine if you don't, this series is connected but not something you need to read every part of). yeah this was the story in my head then and i'm finally getting it out there now! i apologize for the sudden shift in tone and the legitimate inclusion of the magnus archives; fear not, next installment is planned, outlined, and partially written, and while it's prose the premise is so fucking stupid i think it makes up for this one. 
> 
> title is from mag 168 (roots) because end!tim has rights.

Tim Stoker dropped his head into his hands and stared out blankly into space. The bottles lined up on the bar reflected light back into his face, and he had to close his eyes against his threatening headache. He’d given his statement for Jon, and now he was just… drained. Waiting for everyone else to finish planning. He’d tried to get some rest, but it hadn’t panned out, and it was only around seven anyway. Heavy dreariness weighed upon him, leaving him too exhausted to get a wink. 

Had the bartender always looked like that? Tim felt that he would have noticed. Distinctive black eyeliner was done up in long jagged streaks down the other man’s cheeks. He was dressed up like for a Ren Faire, and Tim struggled to remember if there was one on. Usually he’d go, but, well. It was in the middle of the summer, so probably. Why was he getting lost down this rabbit hole? It  _ was  _ strange, though. Could be a Stranger monster? No, that was his paranoia talking. He had to remember that. 

“Hello, Stoker,” the bartender said unexpectedly, leaning casually on the countertop. “Can I call you Stoker? The thing is, see, I know another Tim, and he’s always so bitchy whenever I bring you up. I think he’s under the impression you’re rivals. He won’t let you have his name, even though Tim’s his last one anyhow.” 

“What’s  _ his  _ first name?” is all Tim could think to say. Not “How do you know my name”. Unnaturally natural, this conversation didn’t feel like speaking to a total stranger. 

“Gunpowder,” Jonny said. Jonny, that was his name, Jonny d’Ville. How did Tim know that? 

“Gunpowder? Really? Named after his father who’s a cannon, I’m assuming.” 

“I don’t know, I’ve never asked.” 

“How do you know me?”

Jonny rubbed at the rim of a glass with a cloth. The glass was clean- it seemed more a formality to keep the position of bartender than anything. Tim remembered who he’d taken the place of now; a woman with dark hair and a tattoo he’d admired. Where was she? “I’ve been… watching.” 

“Not a fan of that!” Tim said on impulse, edging back from the bar. “What did you do with the actual bartender?” 

“I don’t know. Things are a bit strange right now, aren’t they?” His voice was nowhere near soft or melodic, but it had an entrancing effect to it. “Perhaps I shot her. Who knows.” He leaned forward, tired blue eyes meeting Tim’s tired black ones. “I’m not something of the Eye, Stoker, I’m watching to tell this story later. I can do you that justice, at least.” 

“Justice?” 

“You know, you’re lucky.” 

Tim glared at him. “If you really do know things about me, you should know I have some of the worst fucking luck in the universe.  _ Lucky-  _ how can you say that?”

“You  _ are,  _ though.” Jonny jumped over the bar and sat in the chair next to Tim, pushing it with a screech so that they were facing each other. “You get your ending. You get to die.” 

“I don’t  _ want  _ an ending.” 

“What if I told you that the Unknowing wouldn’t work? That none of the rituals ever would, and this was all for nothing?” 

“I wouldn’t trust you. I’m not taking that risk. I’d never entrust the fate of the world to a theory.” 

A gleam entered Jonny’s eye. “But what if I was  _ right.”  _

“I’d go anyway,” Tim found himself saying. “I want to kill the things that killed my brother.” 

“You’re willing to give your life for that.” 

“Yes, a thousand times over.” 

“Have fun with that, then.” Jonny got out of his chair and stretched, nudging Tim off his as well. Tim obligingly got off and to his feet. “If all goes well, see you in hell. You should go home.” 

“Bastard,” Tim said, as a courtesy, and for some reason followed Jonny’s instruction and started the long and lonely walk back to his little lonely flat. 

He was already forgetting what happened by the time the bar was out of sight. 


End file.
